Gallows Humor
by Wonton Destruction
Summary: The Crystal War is over, and the Fateless One finds his life lacking now that his purpose has been fulfilled. However, a notice form the Alfar Navy may just turn his life around. On the island of Gallows End he'll find dead pirates, rock golems, a deserted fortress, and maybe even love. That is, if Rast Brattigan has anything to say about it.
1. Chapter 1

**Kingdoms of Amalur: reckoning is the property of Studio 38, I am in no way profiting from this work, it meant only to entertain.**

One would have thought that his journey would be over. Gadflow, the usurper King of the Winter Court, was dead. Tirnoch, Gadflow's false goddess, was resealed within the depths of the earth. The Tuatha were being driven from the land and peace was no longer some far-fetched dream. All of the things that the Fateless One had set out to do those many months ago had been accomplished. He was bored. Ymir of the Varani, known to some as the Fateless One, and to most as the Seigebreaker of Mel Senshir, had lived a life of excitement and danger since his resurrection in the Well of Souls. He'd slain demon lords, wild beasts, fanatical cultists, and skilled warriors. He had become King of the House of Ballads, Champion of the House of Valor, even Archsage of the Scholia Arcana, and now, after all that, he was bored out of his skull. A person could not go from that kind of life and be expected to start a farm somewhere in the Faelands. He craved excitement. Arriving quietly on an unassuming ship in Rathir, he rented a room in the Seafoam Tavern and crawled into bed. Before drifting off to sleep, he made a plea to Thydron, god of war, and his patron, for a purpose, something to give him meaning. Months later, he'd look back on that night and come to a realization: Thydron, though he had answered his prayer, was kind of a dick.

In the morning, Ymir found a note pinned to his door. It was a recruitment notice for the Alfar Merchant Navy. It was a little vague on what they wanted, but if nothing else, it was an adventure. He met with Commodore Garrick in the main room of the tavern and after gathering his supplies, made his way to the Quays to find his ship. He'd never hunted down a pirate before and was eager to get started. It seemed Thydron worked fast. At the end of the dock there was a rickety-looking tub, a man who appeared to be one of the Almain sitting on the ground, and a rather cheery Ljosalfar woman. She was rather beautiful. While she had the soft curves and slight build of most women of her kind, it was he face that he found most intriguing. He cheekbones were high, giving her eyes a rather exotic look. In his travels across Amalur Ymir had taken some time to appreciate the female form and sample the fine selection that the world had to offer. From the Ljosalfar beauty Menri Togh in Canneroc, to the high-class Dokkalfar noblewomen of Rathir, the widowed Rikka Egest in Gorhart, even the Gnomish alchemist Nanne Hanri. Each one had their own unique charms, both physical and mental. After listening to this particular woman, who was apparently the infamous Rast Brattigan mentioned by the Commodore, he realized she was startlingly different from any of his other travel companions. She was upbeat and rather casual about things most would consider morose, and had sense of wonder he would almost call child-like. As he helped raise the anchor he couldn't help but wonder what new surprises this journey would have for him. It was yet another instance where he would later realize that Thydron was a dick.

**A/N: This is my attempt at a Reckoning story. As always I appreciate any and all constructive criticism.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One**

"I need a new god," he grumbled, pushing himself out of the surf. Wiping the saltwater from his face, he finally got a look at his surroundings. All around him were chunks of broken wood and bodies. It seemed the ship had crashed. It figured. Look away for just a moment and everything goes to hell. Off in the distance were other wrecked hulls. Welcome to Gallows End.

Moving up the beach he ran into Captain Brattigan near a tidal pool. Oddly enough she looked no worse for the wear. "Are you alright? Everything in its right place?" He nodded the affirmative, gesturing to her. She managed a weak smile. "I'm alright, I suppose. Except for Tari, everyone else is dead…It wasn't quick. I heard their cries on the fog. There wasn't a thing I could do." Ymir had lost comrades before. There wasn't anything he could say to make her feel better. Only pat her reassuringly on the shoulder. He spared Tari, the first mate, a glance. He looked pretty beat up. Lacking the proper supplies to heal him properly, their only option was to reach the mainland and find help for him there. Leaving him with a vial of stamina potion, Ymir and Rast headed into the flooded cavern that seemed to lead further into the island.

It seemed like all caves in Amalur, the ones on Gallows End were filled with things that wanted to kill him. Only instead of boggarts and sprites, these caves had wonderful creatures called "scavs" that had a penchant for shooting acid at people. Thankfully, they were just as susceptible to a greatsword to the face as any other living creature. Then there was the matter of the cave ins, which as it turned out were also capable of being fixed by an excessive amount of force, this time in the form of explosions. All things considered, it was probably the easiest time he had with a cave ever… Probably because of the explosives. It seemed the dear Captain was rather resourceful. Almost as soon as they were out of the cave they happened upon a settlement where they were greeted immediately by the village's leader, Alder Malloi. He wasn't sure he liked this man. Alder was certainly a man of faith, not entirely uncommon, but there was something in his tone, or perhaps a look in his eye that put Ymir off. 'Time enough to deal with him later,' he thought. Rast asked him to search the beaches for survivors, and he would do just that. He just hoped that there would be survivors to bring back.

It had been a long day on Gallows End. While there were indeed survivors of the Calamity, Thorir Arding and his wife Asa, Ymir had also come face to face with his newest opponent, the infamous Dead Kel. His very existence defied logic. As far as Ymir knew, he, the Fateless One, was the only person to ever be brought back to life. He was brought back to stop Tirnoch from bringing ruin to the world. Kel's only purpose seemed to be slaughtering innocents. He had to be stopped. It was almost dark by the time he returned. The Fateless One did not eat with the community; he only sat on the dock, practicing the meditative techniques that Agarth had taught him in Ysa. He did not feel the cold of the ocean winds, or the hunger that should have been gnawing at his stomach, or even the screaming aches of his joints and the injuries he had acquired that day. His mind was blank, only swimming through the ether, waiting to come across some sort of answer to the challenges that faced him.

"Are you still with us, pretty?" A feminine voice shook him from his introspection. Startled, he looked up to the smiling face of Rast Brattigan. She'd wrapped herself in a thick blanket to ward off the chill of the night. "I was a bit worried, you know. You didn't eat with us. Just sat by yourself, thinking. You do that a lot, don't you?" He shrugged, staring off into the distance while Rast took a seat beside him, wrapping her arms around her legs, pulling her knees to her chest. "I'm scared, you know. Of this place… Of letting everyone down. I'm supposed to be the captain, and I can't even protect my own crew," she said softly, he voice beginning to crack. "What's to become of us, pretty? Are we just supposed to sit here listening to some old fool spout about his all-knowing god while we wait for a dead pirate to slaughter us? For the first time in my life I'm not sure everything will turn out alright. And that, more than anything scares me…" She was close enough that he could feel her begin to shake and hear her sniffling.

"I don't know what will happen to us…" Ymir wasn't known as a man who spoke often. He rarely felt the need to do so. However, if there was ever a time he felt he should say something, it was now. His voice was gravelly and rough from lack of use, but it suited his deep tone well. "I've found that whenever I get involved, the way things turn out can never be predicted. I'm the bane of every fateweaver in Amalur. However, what I do know is this: I will do everything in my power to keep us from harm." She looked at him with watery eyes. Removing his gloves, he took hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze. It seemed so small. "I'll make sure you get home Rast Brattigan. I'll protect you. By Thydron and all of his devils I swear this. Now rest. A captain must be strong for her crew."

Wordlessly she inched closer and pressed her lips to his cheek and leaned against him, her smile back in place. She offered him some of her blanket but he shook his head, motioning for her to sleep. This was only the beginning of their ordeal, and both would need their strength. For now, though, he would enjoy this moment. As a wise man once said, "Take what you can, when you can." Who was he to argue with a wise man?

**A/N: I do accept anonymous reviews. I'd like to get some sort of feedback as to what I'm doing.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

The morning came and went without incident. A small bowl of rice and a piece of fish served as his breakfast, mostly at Rast's insistence. He didn't have the heart to argue with her, especially after the previous night. As he ate, she mentioned a man named Quay, the oldest living castaway on Gallows End. If anyone knew where they could find a ship, it would be him. Oddly enough the information had come from Alder, along with the request of a favor and a remark about the futility of their quest to kill Dead Kel. It was to be expected, he supposed. With Quay being located somewhere on the western coast of the Island, an area Ymir had yet to explore, he decided to switch out his equipment. From a crate he thankfully had salvaged from the wreck of the Calamity he took out Scourgebane, and enchanted greatsword he had come across during his time with the House of Valor, and Solstice, chakrams enhanced with fire magic. He'd need every advantage he could get. Before setting off, Rast pulled him aside.

"Now don't take any unnecessary risks out there. This place is dangerous, and I get the feeling that something's going on here that we aren't privy to. Just… Just be careful. And make sure you come back." He hand lingered on his shoulder a moment longer than it should have. He nodded and gave her the most reassuring smile he could before setting off. 'First thing's first,' he thought, 'Have get this pendant to Alder's wife.'

After a short and unpleasant visit to Souldeep Fasting, Ymir travelled north along the coast. After a few miles, he had his first encounter with the apex predator of Gallows End: the Root Golem. It was a hulking mass of boulders bound together with roots and vines, easily twice as tall as him. Now, he'd fought trolls as big as the golem, if not bigger, but the key difference was that the golem was infinitely faster. When he saw it burrow into the ground he had only a split second to blink away. Sometimes it was good to be the Archsage. Blinking out of rage or a broad sweep of the golem's arm, he threw a fistful of lightning at the beast, staggering it. Now was his chance. Getting up close and personal with the beast, he let loose a flurry of swings from Scourgebane, hacking away root and chipping away stone. Then came the impact. Faster than he would have thought, the creature recovered from its shock and decked him with its large stone "hand." Flying backwards, he managed to roll when he hit the ground, springing to his feet before hurling another barrage of lightning at the root golem. It was tough, but he had killed far more dangerous beasts than this. This would turn just like the others. A few well-placed strikes and it fell in a heap. For Quay's sake, he had better have some answers.

Quay did in fact have answers. The only way to get those answers, however, was to steal Dead Kel's ship. Now, while his original reason for seeking the old man out was to find a ship, stealing the personal ship of a crazed pirate was a bit more troublesome than one would think. First, there was navigating the maze of docks that led to Dark Harbor, Kel's hideout. Patrolling the docks was an army of Faer Gorta, and some other nasty beasts that roamed the island. Individually they weren't a problem, but the sheer number in which they came made the task a chore. Things had eased up once he actually got inside the harbor. All he had to do then was smash the gears holding the harbor wall in place. They broke easily enough, and it looked like all he had to do was mop up the Faer Gorta and sail the ship around to Cape Solace. What he hadn't counted on was Bloodgrin.

He'd heard from the villagers that when Dead Kel was resurrected, he brought his lieutenants back with him, the Hanged Men. The towering monster of a man standing before him was obviously Bloodgrin. Over his shoulder was a hammer that looked as if it had been carved from the backbone of some monstrous creature. He smirked at the Fateless One. "So, you're the one who dares to challenge Dead Kel. You have spirit little one, and I look forward to smashing it out of you." He swung down with his hammer, Ymir bringing up his sword to block. The blow almost drove him to his knees, his whole body screaming from the effort of holding back the attack. That root golem had done more damage than he'd thought. "Focus little one!" the giant bellowed before kicking the Fateless One in the stomach, sending him careening across the room and into the cave wall. "I don't see why Kel is so worried about you," he gloated, "You really aren't so tough. Once you're dead we'll massacre that entire village. Maybe I'll keep that pretty Ljosalfar whore of yours alive for a while. She looks like a bit of fun!"

That did it. Digging deep, Ymir pulled out his trump card: Reckoning. With a feral roar he tapped into the energies of Fate, the sudden surge of energy knocking Bloodgrin from his feet, despite him being across the room. With a newfound burst of speed he crossed the floor, his sword sinking deep into the monster's torso. He followed with a hard horizontal slash, removing his left hand. Bloodgrin doubled over, clutching his bloody stump. Dropping Scourgebane, Ymir felt a haft materialize in his hand. He spared it a look, and smiled; A hammer, made of Fate energy. How appropriate. Using all of his strength he wound up and brought the hammer down, crushing Bloodgrin's skull. Worthless dog. Breathing deep, he absorbed the fate of Dead Kel's lieutenant, and for good measure, he took his hammer. He never could turn down a free weapon.

"I must confess. My suggestion to steal the boat was made in jest. I never expected… this." Of course Quay would show up. The battle was over and the danger was gone. Ymir growled, blood dripping from his lips. He was in no mood for joking, only answers. The old man raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Easy now son, I'll tell you everything I know." He went on to explain that there was a spy amongst the people of Cape Solace, one hell-bent on disrupting the Offering, their ceremony of choosing Akara's new Scion. A spy with a power over fate similar to his own. This little expedition was becoming more and more dangerous every second.

He asked Quay to sail the ship back to the village. Normally he would have just done it himself. Ymir was, after all, a proud Varani warrior, a master of the sea. But he was injured. His ribs felt broken, he had numerous cuts and bruises, and his armor was dented and cracked. He needed to get back to the village and rest. The spy could wait a day.

It was dark by the time they returned to Cape Solace. He'd been gone two days. There were cries of fear as the Requiem pulled up to the dock. In their defense, it _was_ Dead Kel's ship. Rast, Mitharu bless her, was waiting for him. The second he set foot off the boat she was mothering him, looking over his cuts, gingerly brushing her fingers over his black eye and the large bruise blossoming over his ribs. She shooed away the villagers, insisting that he be given room. The moment they were alone, she threw herself at him, sniffling as she did last night. "I told you to be careful you big dolt! If getting us a ship meant you turning out like this, I'd have forbid you from going! Honestly, making me worry so much… Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

He looked down at her and smiled weakly. "I promised my captain a ship. And I promised a beautiful woman that I'd come back. I managed to do both, and it only cost some pieces of armor and a few cracked ribs. It was worth it." She looked at him oddly for a moment before muttering and easing him down onto his bedroll. When asked if he needed anything, his only reply was "The fourth vial from the right in the small metal box from my crate." It was a Master-level healing potion that he had picked up from his time in Alabastra. After draining the vial he felt his bones begin to knit and his cuts seal up, ensuring that he'd be ready to deal with the spy the next day. Rast rolled out her blanket beside him, explaining after his protest that she was going to keep an eye on him. She further explained that though they had the means to return to Rathir, she could tell that he wanted to finish this, to make sure Dead Kel would stay dead for good. At his questioning look, she elaborated. "If you stay, I stay. We stand together, you and I. We started this journey as companions, but the fires of adversity have made us something more- Friends. And I don't let my friends down." He smiled tiredly at her, offering some of his blanket which she gladly accepted.

Tomorrow he would root out a spy, and hopefully, slay that masked fool Dead Kel. But for now, he would rest, and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman.

**A/N: Reviews would be nice, even anonymous.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. **

The other Hanged Men went down much easier than Bloodgrin. The Whispering Witch had killed Alder's wife Bridgette, the current Scion. The Witch moved by slipping through the weave of Fate. Ymir ripped her from it and broke her neck, and became the new Scion. The Baronett fell next when he attacked the Fateless One at the Offering Ceremony on Akara-Tor. He made quick work of the last of the Hanged Men, his neck snapping with an oddly satisfying 'crack.' The Baronett had been a competent sorcerer, but Ymir had faced the Dark Empyrean, one of the most dangerous mages to ever walk Amalur. All that remained was Dead Kel, deep in the caverns of Akara-Tor. Rast insisted on coming, said he couldn't be trusted to take care of himself. He wondered if this was what having a wife was like.

Hm. Akara was a sentient tree from Nyralim's brood, and Kel just wanted to die and stay dead. He certainly wasn't expecting that. He also wasn't expecting Kel to be such a handful. While there were certainly stronger opponents, Dead Kel was a master swordsman, and he could travel through the ground like a root golem. Thankfully he had Rast at his back, holding off the Faer Gorta. Kel's blade soared past his ear, shaving off a few hairs. That would teach him to let his mind wander in a fight. Kel came in again, Stormblade parrying the vicious assault as a blast of lightning found its mark in Kel's face, sending the pirate king reeling. Before he could move in for a killing blow, Kel disappeared into the ground again. Unlike a root golem, there was no way of knowing where he would pop up.

"A little help please!" squealed a feminine voice. So that's where he went. Rast was cornered by a pair of Faer Gorta, and now Dead Kel. The scourge of Gallows End already had his sword raised to strike her down. She was defenseless and there was no way he could cross the distance separating them in time, even if he used magic. In an instant, Ymir did what anyone would do when faced with a split second decision: He acted on instinct. "Get over here!" he bellowed, thrusting out his left hand, a harpoon flying through the air and into Dead Kel's back, pulling him through the air. Before he was even half way back Ymir had gone into Reckoning and was moving toward the middle of the platform. He felt something materialize in his hand; a chain with a spiked ball attached. This promised to be especially brutal. Swinging the ball to gain momentum, he brought it crashing down into Kel's chest. With a sudden rush he felt himself leave Reckoning, absorbing the Fate of his fallen foe. The man who had once been the bane of every ship between Rathir and the Frostbreak Sea was dead, his abdomen almost completely flattened. Shards of bone stood out against his red coat and the fiery red glow in his eyes had vanished. Not even Akara would be able to bring him back this time. He pried the sword from the dead man's hand. Good steel shouldn't be left to rust.

The ground began to tremble and the earth far above our heads began to shake loose. He looked to Rast, a look of confusion on his face. He called out to her. "What's happening?" She almost looked amused. "Let me see. Yes, it looks as though we're about to be crushed. We could always run." That was probably the smartest thing he had heard all day. He rushed ahead to clear a path, thinking that any leftover creatures would probably be dealt with easier by him. Thankfully there were only a few boggarts in the way. Little buggers practically exploded when he touched them. They proved to be the least of his problems. A section of the ceiling up ahead was getting ready to come down. Using a trick he picked from his time in the Scholia Arcana, he focused a blast of his magic into the stone of the floor, a column of rock being forced out of the ground, acting a temporary support pillar. Rast looked impressed when she caught up to him. "Wow, where were you when I wanted to kill my ex husband?" He could never be sure when she was kidding him or not.

The exit to the cave collapsed just as they set foot onto the beach. Their timing couldn't have been better. He fell to his knees, the stress of their little jog finally catching up with him. Rast sat beside him on a rock. "Strange," she said softly. "I should feel joyous, satisfied. Vengeance is mine! But I'm not happy. In fact, I'm quite crestfallen. Perhaps my mother was right. "Sometimes killing can make things right, but most of the time it's a terrible idea." He gave her a wry look.

"I don't know about all that. I feel pretty good about how things went. I killed a monster, saved the beautiful captain, and got a free sword out of it."

She smiled. "You know what? I need to find a new role model." He saw her lips continue to move, but there was no sound coming from her mouth. His vision started to blur, and his fingers were going numb. The last he saw before everything went dark was the look of concern on her face.

"What happened this time?" He muttered to himself, eyes adjusting to the light. A scratchy voice answered him. "You got careless." It was Quay, the old Fateweaver. "It seems the injuries you sustained in Akara-Tor were more serious that you realized. Once the danger was gone and you stopped running on pure survival instinct, everything hit you at once. Broken ribs from a root golem, poison from a crudok, and multiple sword wounds from Dead Kel. You've been out for almost a week. The good captain carried you back to the village. She's scarcely left your side. I expect that you'll have a lot to make up to her. I recommend flowers." If Ymir had the strength to throw something at the old man, he would.

He slowly sat up, moving to stand. It seemed he was in the captain's quarters of the Requiem. His trek to the door was slow, and the sudden blinding sunshine outside didn't make the trip any more worthwhile. A small hand grabbed his shoulder, and immediately dragged him back into the cabin. Apparently Rast had seen him before he had seen her. She looked especially annoyed. "You had me worried sick!" she shouted. "Honestly. Why do you act like that, throwing yourself headlong into dangerous situations." She shook head to regain her composure. "No more! Do you hear me?" The point was emphasized with a sharp jab of her finger into his chest. "If you and I are going to woo, and woo with vigor, you're going to be more considerate of my needs. And they are many. Like sex… I mean sex."

'Wait… The fuck?'

"Don't look so surprised. I saw the way you looked at my behind when I was looking out at the water, and we've certainly had our share of moments together. I think you're pretty, and certainly a much better person that any of the other men I've been with. To show that you're my consort, I want you to have the sword on the wall. It was my mothers. She was a terrible person." Ymir could only stare at her, slack-jawed. He'd never met a person so upfront in his life. This woman, whom he had only known for a few weeks, was claiming him as hers. He could only do one thing; His arm shot out and snaked around her waist. Before she could even open her mouth he had her against him, kissing like she was the last woman he'd ever see.

"Lock the door," he growled against her lips. It was his life now, damn it. No more crazed Fae armies trying to kill him. No mysterious Dokkalfar women giving him cryptic clues about information vital to his survival. From now on it was only Rast Brattigan. If nothing else he knew where he stood with her. It was a nice change of pace.

**A/N: Rast's dialogue has been modified to suit my needs. She might disappear for a chapter or two, but she will be back. Next chapter will hopefully start the restoration of Gravehal. Once he has a keep, the lord will need a lady…**


	5. Chapter 5

(See Chapter One for Disclaimer)

"_What do you mean you're not coming back?!_" Rast shrieked, drawing stares from the people boarding the _Requiem_ for her journey back to Rathir. They had spent the days after their victory over Dead Kel getting to know one another. After that first spontaneous, and rather intense, bout of love making, time passed by way of stories from Rast and what little Ymir could remember from before his resurrection in the Well of Souls, along with his adventures during the war. She felt that real progress had been made, that they could finally see about getting their life together started. But then he dropped that little piece of information on her. What the in the Hell was he thinking?!

Ymir winced, holding up his hand in a pacifying gesture. "Rast, please calm down. I am coming back. Just not at this time. There's something here that I still have to do, something important." She rounded on him.

"What could be more important that what we have?! I know you feel it, just as strongly as I do. After weeks of being trapped here, being forced to fight all sorts of terrible monsters, we finally get to go home! Why would you ever want to stay here?"

He sighed. "You know that Gnome from the village, the one they call Paddy?" Rast nodded, the impatient look on her face a sign to get to the point. "He took me to the abandoned fort north of the village. Rast… I can't explain it. There's something pulling me there, as if the building were alive and asking for my help. This is something I feel I have to do." He closed the distance between them, cupping her heart-shaped face in his rough, calloused hands. "Please, love, trust me. Have I failed you, or lead you astray when it truly mattered?" She scowled a bit, looking down to hide her watery eyes. Eventually she shook her head in the negative. "Then trust me now. Two months. Return to Rathir, collect your reward for Dead Kel, and gather supplies. Come back to these shores in two months, and I will be here."

"Promise me, you big oaf. Promise you'll be here." Her arms encircled him in a bone-crushing hug. She had to admit, he did have a point; not once in their adventure had he ever let her down. And she could understand the feeling of having to do something even if you couldn't explain, or even understand why. Still, that didn't mean she had to like it. When she released him from her embrace, she felt something slide over her finger. A silver band. Rast looked up questioningly.

"That ring signifies me as Archsage of the Scholia Arcana. I won the right to wear it through sweat, fire, and blood. It is very precious to me. I ask that you wear it until you come back. By then I will have something more befitting the greatest sailor in Amalur." Sniffling, she smiled and hugged him again as he leaned in for a quick kiss. She could handle two months away from him. His gift would make that easier.

"Off you go pretty, it's time for me to set sail." With a quick salute he hopped back onto the dock, watching his consort shout out orders to her crew.

"Was it wise to give her that ring? From what I know of the Scholia Arcana, I believe the rings amplify the wearer's powers, do they not?"

Ymir looked down to see Padrig Dower, the Gnome castaway who first told him about Gravehal Keep. "It puts my mind at ease knowing that she has the protections the ring grants. And I still carry my Savant's Ring," Ymir said, slipping the ring onto his finger. "The enhancements it provides will suffice until her return."

Paddy chuckled. "As you say."

"I do. Go prepare yourself. We make for the Hall at mid-day." Ymir's attention went back to the ship he had fought so hard to win pulling out of the harbor. The last few weeks had been hard, but he had weathered them as he did everything else that life threw at him. But it was Rast Brattigan, however, that made dealing with it easier. It was a noticeable change from his prior adventures where it had been just him, or at best, Agarth. With the old fateweaver there were a few lewd jokes, maybe a drink or two or seven in Agarth's case, but with Rast there stories from her childhood, her limitless cheer, and of course, lewd jokes. He sighed. Hopefully clearing out a dilapidated fort would keep his mind of her.

xxxXXXxxx

"I fucking hate Scavs," he growled, kicking the last of the disgusting beasts aside. If he ever decided to stay, he'd make a point of removing the entire species from the island. Though he supposed that for now he'd settle for making Gravehal Scav-free. Despite its advanced age, over five hundred years according to Paddy, the main structure itself was remarkably untouched, as if the timbers had been felled only the day before. When properly restored, it would make a fine keep. Even now it was certainly more hospitable than Cape Solace. Still... Something felt off. A malevolent presence hung heavy in the air, as if something was lurking beneath the surface.

"The keep was not haunted. It was overrun. Monsters, not phantoms, inhabited the dark hallways," Paddy intoned, breaking him from his line of thinking. The former architect nodded to the throne. "Go on. You've beaten back the beasts. You've braved the shadows. You've earned the right to claim the seat." His gaze turned to Ymir. This warrior had purged the wild monsters from this grand hall while he could only watch. Though it had been his dream these long months to restore Gravehal Keep, this man had earned the right to rule it. "Sit upon your throne. You are the rightful ruler of Gravehal now." Ymir nodded, walking purposefully toward the great wooden throne, his prior sense of dread forgotten in this moment. Sitting in the chair granted him an expansive view of the hall. He could almost picture it at the height of its power. It felt right being there.

Paddy chuckled. "For years the villagers of Cape Solace were too craven to enter this great hall. And here you are, freshly washed ashore, and you march right in and take it. Haunted? Never. Just a few small beasts. Nothing you couldn't handle." An unearthly scream tore through the hall, shaking the dust from the rafters. A scream that Ymir was very familiar with. He turned to Paddy.

"You just had to say that, didn't you?" A pillar of blue flames erupted from the floor, spreading a deep, piercing chill through the room. '_Never known a Niskaru to do that,_' he thought as a claw shot out of the flames, the body of a Niskaru Tyrant following suit. No, not a Tyrant. While its flesh was a hodgepodge of knots of muscle and bone with the foul stench of decay all around it, this creature was different from the Niskaru Tyrants he had faced throughout Amalur. Whereas they had hearts of red fire radiating heat so fierce they could melt flesh, this beast was wreathed in blue flames with that ungodly chill that bit at the very soul. He'd read about them in an ancient text he found in the Warsworn Vaults. The Niskaru Horrinux. "Paddy, hide!"

The beast crossed the room with speed he'd only ever seen from Bloodhunters, ramming its deformed face into him, sending him into a wall. Trained reflexes allowed him to block, if only barely. Rolling off to the side he unsheathed his daggers, the Mirrorknives. They had been enchanted with electricity, and crafted from Niskaru skin which gave their edge a deadly bite. This creature had raw power, but Ymir had speed and technique. Rolling to dodge the massive claw trying to take his head off, he blinked to cover the distance between them, his weapons a blur as they sliced through demonic flesh. The Horrinux angled its head down, blue flames welling up behind the skeletal facemask. Ymir blinked to the side, hurling a fistful of lightning into the beast, staggering it. Scourgebane sang through the air, cleaving into the Niskaru's side. The creature howled and shot out an arm, knocking sword and swordsman across the hall.

"_**I will feast on your flesh dustling!**__"_

'_Never heard a Niskaru do that before,_' he thought, bringing up his shield to hold back the torrent of freezing cold hellfire that sought to envelop him.

"_**I have seen into your heart… I know your fears! Your woman will be our plaything while we feast on your innards!"**_

Now, as Bloodgrin could have told anyone if his head had not been reduced to a fine paste, the one thing you do not do in front of Ymir of the Varani is threaten one Captain Rast Brattigan. This mistake had only one consequence: a slow, violent death. With unnatural ease he threw his greatsword, the weight and momentum of the blade sinking it deep into the demon's chest, eliciting a horrifying gurgled shriek. The rock beneath the floor rose up as he stomped towards his prey, the jagged pillars of stone pinning the Horrinux in place as he jumped up onto its head, driving the Mirrorknives into a pair of smoldering eyes. As the beast shrieked Ymir grabbed hold of its lower mandibles, prying them far apart. "Get out of my house," he growled, jerking his arms with one last burst of strength. Tendons and muscles ripped with sickening wet snaps, jaw bones dangling by sinewy threads. He leapt down to avoid the Niskaru's fiery breath, landing on Scourgebane's handle. The sudden application of weight turned the sword into a giant lever, arcing the blade up, slicing through the throat and what remained of the head in a spray of blood. There was no more movement, save for the occasional twitch. Reckoning could have ended it sooner, but he wanted the satisfaction drawing out the creature's death. A few extra wounds were well worth it.

"It looks as though the keep had one more surprise left for us," Paddy murmured. When the Niskaru had appeared, he could do little more than heed Ymir's command to hide, taking refuge behind a pile of rubble. He was glad he did. The Varani moved with the purpose and grace of a seasoned warrior, and the power he threw around was… It was just beyond belief. It seemed he wasn't the Archsage for nothing. "The keep is now yours. Let me be the first to offer you my services, my liege."

"Accepted, Padrig Dower of Adessa. You spoke to me when we first met of restoring this keep to its former glory. Is that still your desire?"

Paddy couldn't believe it! In less than a day his dream of restoring Gravehal, the only good thing about being stranded on this wretched island, had come true. "I am glad you asked my liege! I have many plans for restoration and improvement! When I am through your keep shall be the envy of Amalur. I will start immediately! First a total restoration of the main structure, outside and in. And, if my liege approves, a beast pen in the outer courtyard? All I will require will be two bundles of beachstone, three bundles of emberwood, and three bundles of sailcloth."

"Approved. I have the supplies you need stockpiled near Cape Solace." He knew there would be a good reason for hauling back all of those materials. "I have one request though, Paddy."

"My liege?"

Ymir looked to the freshly slain Niskaru. "Mount its head over the front of the main gate. When word gets out about the keep, we shall new enemies to deal with. I want to send them a message."

"Y-yes, my liege. Your will shall be done."

"We start in the morning Paddy. We both need rest." Prying his weapons from the body, he motioned for Paddy to follow him. It was getting dark out. Thinking back on it, maybe it had been best that Rast had left. If the Niskaru hadn't killed him, she certainly would have.

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay, I'll try to speed it up. Paddy's dialog is taken and adapted from the game.**


End file.
